Evil Under the Sun (Hercule Poirot 24)

“Oh no.”

Weston said:

“I suppose your father was—er—very wrapped up in her?”

Linda said simply:

“I don’t know.”

Weston went on:

“All sorts of difficulties, as I say, arise in families. Quarrels—rows—that sort of thing. If husband and wife get ratty with each other, that’s a bit awkward for a daughter too. Anything of that sort?”

Linda said clearly:

“Do you mean, did Father and Arlena quarrel?”

“Well—yes.”

Weston thought to himself:

“Rotten business—questioning a child about her father. Why is one a policeman? Damn it all, it’s got to be done, though.”

Linda said positively:

“Oh no.” She added: “Father doesn’t quarrel with people. He’s not like that at all.”

Weston said:

“Now, Miss Linda, I want you to think very carefully. Have you any idea at all who might have killed your stepmother? Is there anything you’ve ever heard or anything you know that could help us on that point?”

Linda was silent a minute. She seemed to be giving the question a serious unhurried consideration. She said at last.

“No, I don’t know who could have wanted to kill Arlena.” She added: “Except, of course, Mrs. Redfern.”

Weston said:

“You think Mrs. Redfern wanted to kill her? Why?”

Linda said:

“Because her husband was in love with Arlena. But I don’t think she would really want to kill her. I mean she’d just feel that she wished she was dead—and that isn’t the same thing at all, is it?”

Poirot said gently:

“No, it is not at all the same.”

Linda nodded. A queer sort of spasm passed across her face. She said:

“And anyway, Mrs. Redfern could never do a thing like that—kill anybody. She isn’t—she isn’t violent, if you know what I mean.”

Weston and Poirot nodded. The latter said:

“I know exactly what you mean, my child, and I agree with you. Mrs. Redfern is not of those who, as your saying goes, ‘sees red.’ She would not be”—he leaned back half closing his eyes, picking his words with care—“shaken by a storm of feeling—seeing life narrowing in front of her—seeing a hated face—a hated white neck—feeling her hands clench—longing to feel them press into flesh—”

He stopped.

Linda moved jerkily back from the table. She said in a trembling voice: